


Regret Me Not

by Sherlocked_221B (McDanno50)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Mpreg, No Spoilers, Omega John, Pack Dynamics, Post Mpreg, Sexual Content, Slash, Were-Creatures, Wolf Puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-09 20:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDanno50/pseuds/Sherlocked_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolves are not solitary creatures, living in packs for practical reasons as well as the need for companionship. Sherlock has always thought himself above it all; the quintessential lone wolf. That was before he met John Watson: Were-Wolf and an Omega.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 'Sherlock', the characters and general plot of the show all belong to their respectful owners. It was not my intention to offend anyone by the writing of this story. This multi-chapter story was not Beta'd or Brit-picked so please forgive any mistakes you may read. Tags are subject to change throughout the course of the story.  
> Be forewarned: this story contains mpreg, post mpreg, and mentions of birth. I am fully aware that a male, human or wolf, can NOT get pregnant and can NOT have children/puppies. I do NOT care. If any of the tags mentioned above bother you please turn back now or forever hold your peace. Thank you!

            When one uttered the name Sherlock Holmes, whether that someone be a human or a Were, assumed quite right that he was virtually indestructible. Humans thought he was a genius and a psychopath that used his “gifts” for justice. How very dull of them. The Weres knew slightly better: he was a powerful shape shifter, born from a legendary bloodline of wolves who became Pack Alpha several years ago. People and Weres alike respected Sherlock Holmes even when they hated him because of one reason: he showed no fear.

            From the time when Sherlock was just a pup he showed little emotion around others. His parents and older brother Mycroft knew he was different, embraced it in fact, but were the only three people in the world who knew the truth. He felt the emotions roiling within him every second of every day but discovered the ability to turn them off so as to avoid the messiness of reality. And so he lived in his bubble of sociopathic genius, letting no one inside until that day at St. Bart’s Hospital where he met the ordinary-yet-extraordinary John Watson. The day after they met they became flatmates, and not a year after that they were mated and bonded for life.

            Had someone told Sherlock Holmes that he would find a mate who could not only tolerate him but love him unconditionally, he quite possibly would have died of laughter. Although he would never admit it aloud he was glad to have been proven wrong. He now had a mate who loved and supported him, even when Sherlock stepped off the roof at Barts only to return to London two years later very much alive. To be fair, John had put him in the proverbial dog house for weeks until they had managed to reconcile. A large part of said reconciliation was the promise of offspring which Sherlock had originally vetoed before they mated seeing as how their lifestyle was hardly conducive to pups running underfoot.

            That was five years ago and Sherlock has not regretted a single moment spent with his son Hamish Watson-Holmes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is impatient as always. He can do little else but pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was more of a prologue and now on with the story!

            Whether human or wolf, Sherlock does not take too kindly to activities requiring his patience. He has very little to spare which is why after only eleven minutes of sitting on his bum does he change forms and begin to pace. The living room of 221b is not overly spacious and yet back and forth he goes. The routes he takes vary on occasion; on every third lap he’ll weave through the furniture just to break the monotony, while every seventh he’ll stop at the window to look outside without really seeing anything. Only the pads on his paws register the path he takes between the natural hardwood floor and the area rug which is soft and familiar even though stray pieces tend to snag on his claws.

            As a wolf his senses are keen, more so than when human. The reality of this is both reassuring and terrifying; the former because even though Sherlock is panting he can hear his mate down the hall doing the same for entirely different reasons which coincides with the chilling nature of the situation. His Omega who is struggling to give birth is sequestered away in the closet that has become John’s den while Sherlock is stuck in the living room as per his mate’s and Mrs. Hudson’s request.  Even the sound of his heavy breathing combined with the click-clack of his claws cannot drown the sound of John’s painful whimpers. It takes every ounce of his strength as a man and as a wolf not to charge into their bedroom and comfort his mate. Sherlock knows that John would resent the action, because as he’s proven before with Hamish that he can handle giving birth as his Omega body dictates. But surely their firstborn didn’t take this long? Granted Hamish did not have to fight for space inside his Papa’s belly, being an only pup did have its advantages, making his appearance into the world less than an hour after John disappeared into the den.   

            Sherlock risks a glance at the clock on the mantle and realizes that it has been well over four hours since John’s labor officially started. His mate has been in and out of the den for the past week or so, not really sitting still until this morning when John growled at Sherlock in warning when the latter tried to enter the den. The wolf in him knows to stay out of the way of his laboring mate so as to avoid a bite to the snout. In addition, his Alpha instinct is to guard his territory from intruders; their landlady is of course the only exception being that she’s human and much too old to have children of her own to be of any threat. A part of Sherlock is jealous that Mrs. Hudson gets to be the one to care for John while he is forced to pace the living room. On the other hand, he remains eternally grateful that John does not have to be alone as a female wolf would in nature.

            He has lost count on how many laps he’s taken around the room, alone with only the chaotic thoughts bouncing around his brain for company. A look through the window confirms his suspicions about it raining where the wind causes the droplets to slant sideways sliding down the glass in rivulets. Classic weather for London this time of year but the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing proves promising. He whips around and dashes toward the kitchen only to be hindered by the current bane of Sherlock’s existence. Between the sliding doors however is a gap, a mere four centimeters, and Sherlock’s only view into the dining area. He watches intently as Mrs. Hudson fills the electric kettle with water from the tap and plugs it in before disappearing the way she came and just as quick. He settles down on his belly to wait with his chin on his front paws and snout pressed firmly against the gap.

            Did he mention that patience is not his strongest suit? Luckily Mrs. Hudson had the foresight to bring up her own electric kettle from her flat which boils water in about three minutes instead of John’s traditional tea kettle that takes significantly longer. Every counted second is torturous until the kettle clicks off and Mrs. Hudson rushes back in to pour the hot water into a cooking pot. She left the door open in her haste Sherlock knows, because he did not hear the resulting click. He scrambles up to sit on his bum; the sounds coming from the bedroom are louder now. John’s panting has increased between stuttered breaths consisting of painful whimpers. Sherlock whines long and loud in sympathy hoping that his mate can hear him. He does so again when John fails to answer.

            “Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson looks over her shoulder at him. “He’s doing fine, Sherlock, just fine. I’ve never known you to be so anxious.”

            His mate has been laboring for hours now with no sign of the pups. What if something’s wrong? He can’t say what he needs to say like this, refusing to shift into his human form while his mate toils and suffers, so he settles for a frustrated growl.

            Their landlady’s laugh is soft and not at all unkind. “I know you’re worried love, but John’s body knows what to do.”

            Sherlock manages to glare at the extra towels Mrs. Hudson folds over her right shoulder as if they’ve personally offended him. His scowl only softens into a desperate look that goes unseen when she takes the pot and walks carefully down the hall. The door clicks shut behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be rather short to ensure I stay motivated and keep everyone (hopefully) on the edge of their seats. I love reading feedback as I watch and re-watch Sherlock series 3; don't worry- absolute zero spoilers in this story if you haven't seen it yet. I've got chapters stored up so have no fear; this story will be completed by the time school rolls around on Monday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great Divide is the bane of Sherlock's existence but he makes do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit longer (still less than 1000 words) but it took forever to write. I'm ever-so-thankful for the comments so far and I'll try to reply as quick as possible :)

            Sherlock has forced himself to stop panting even though he’s more anxious than before. It’s been fifteen minutes since Mrs. Hudson left him at what he now calls “The Great Divide”. Without his loud breathing and the clicking of his claws he can hear the old woman talking to his mate with words of encouragement. John’s whimpers have escalated which can only mean one thing: the pups are finally on their way!

            He can’t sit still so decides to stand with his head bent low and ears cropped forward. He’s hardly breathing in hopes of hearing any tidbit of sound coming from the bedroom. Sure enough, less than five minutes later he hears a sharp cry that could only have come from John. Sherlock feels the pained yelp down to his bones just like he knows without a doubt that his Omega just birthed a pup. One new son or daughter into Mrs. Hudson’s waiting hands. He feels like howling in joy even though the John in his head is saying that that would be a bit not good. A quick glance around confirms what he already knows; nobody is watching so he allows his tail to swing in satisfaction.  

            He settles down once more to wait. His snout is pressed hard against The Great Divide, drawing in deep breaths even though the chances of him getting a whiff of his new son or daughter are slim to none. All he can really smell is last night’s remnants of an experiment he performed at the kitchen table.

            Mere minutes pass before another clipped bark permeates the air. Sherlock holds back his fretful whine; John doesn’t need another thing to worry about. The Omega is busy enough as it is. He hears Mrs. Hudson congratulating John wishing more than anything that he could be the one to praise his mate. But no, he’ll wait until the third and final pup is born before letting out a howl so loud John will surely curse at him.

            Time seems to pass slowly when in reality it’s only been twenty odd minutes before John lets out a pained snarl. Sherlock holds his breath, praying that the sound was not out of frustration on John’s part but relief that the worst is over. He doesn’t breathe again until he hears Mrs. Hudson let out a relieved sigh.

            “All done dear,” she coos. “Try and get some rest.”

            Sherlock tries to contain his glee but ultimately fails when his paws begin to dance without his permission. His tail makes a mockery of a helicopter rotor that only wags faster when his sweet landlady makes an appearance. She hums a show tune as she carries the pot to the sink and watches the remaining cold water sluice down the drain. Sherlock huffs out a breath, snuffling a bit to try and get her attention as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing his mate and pups. She turns to him just as an agonizing yowl erupts from the bedroom. The pot tumbles into the sink with a loud clang just before she runs out of sight down the hall. Sherlock yelps out after her, scratching frantically at the doors separating him from his mate while gnawing on the wood with razor-sharp teeth.

            He’s worried, no, he’s terrified. Something is wrong with John and he can’t do anything about it because he can’t shift when his emotions get the better of him.

            “Sherlock!”

            Trying to push his snout in between while chewing on the wood, the doors remain stubbornly still. His name doesn’t register; he can hear nothing. Only the excruciating sound that came from John.

            “That’s coming out of your rent young man!”

            The familiar threat made by Mrs. Hudson echoes in his ears, but shouldn’t she be with John? He’s forced to cease his attack on the doors when they begin to slide open. Three steps back reveals his landlady standing before him with her weathered hands on her hips. She looks mad at the damage he’s caused but she’s smiling too.

            He opens his mouth to speak only to remember that he can’t. She saves him the trouble by stooping down and holding his head steady to plant a kiss on his muzzle with all the strength someone of her age can muster.

            “Four puppies!” He goes a bit cross-eyed with her so close. “Can you believe it? The last one just caught John by surprise, the poor thing.”

            Relief and shock are at war in his system. He visibly deflates as the worry and anxiety leave him in a huff. His mind crackles to life, thoughts buzzing about his head with the biggest question at the front: how could Sherlock miss this? Surely he of all people should have realized that John Watson is not to be underestimated or overlooked. One pup between a Were couple is the average, two pups per litter not unusual, while three is considered very rare indeed. He remembers the feeling of euphoria when the theriogenologist gave them the news while a pale but happy John watched their still growing pups on the monitor.

            A gentle tap to the furred space between his eyes startles him back to the present where Mrs. Hudson gazes at him fondly. “You’ll have to wait a bit before going in love. John needs the rest and the puppies need a good feed.”

            Sherlock dips his head once in understanding. To be perfectly honest, he’s too dumbfounded to face his Omega. He gives himself a good shake before going over to the sofa where he jumps up and plops right down for some much needed time in his mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the boys young when they met because I wanted their story to be told over some time...and I don't really like the thought of having kids after 40-ish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is no longer a lone wolf but a lonely one.

            By the time he exits his mind palace it’s a new day. Baker Street and the whole of London are no longer drowning in rain but the remaining dark clouds don’t allow for much sunlight. Sherlock distinctly remembers it being late afternoon when Mrs. Hudson had come out to tell him that John gave birth to four puppies and not the expected three. Although he had gone into his mind palace to think about things, mainly the surprise of being wrong again when it comes to John, he did not anticipate being inside his head for so long.

            With a massive yawn revealing his many sharp teeth, Sherlock slips off the sofa with a cat-like stretch. His muscles are expectedly stiff seeing as how his transport has been immobile for a better part of fourteen hours. He cannot really complain though with John stuck in the den for a good two weeks before the Omega ventures out again for any significant length of time.

            Just thinking about his mate makes Sherlock grin or rather his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. He cannot wait to see John and their pups. Unfortunately the first meeting will not be on his terms, something that irks the Alpha in him to no end, but he’d rather his Omega call out through the bond between them with an invitation to the den. After all, Sherlock will do just about anything to avoid an angry John in his wolf form.

            He heaves a dramatic sigh and lazily pads his way into the kitchen. The Great Divide no longer separates him from his mate although the bedroom door remains stubbornly shut. He can smell that Mrs. Hudson has been in the flat after the birth to check on John as he sniffs around the dining area and the hall leading to the bedroom. Once again he’s immeasurably grateful to his landlady for the huge help she has been. Sherlock thinks she could use a diamond necklace from Tiffany’s to go along with the diamond earrings he purchased for her after the birth of Hamish.

            Having finished his inspection of the kitchen and upon hearing no noise from the bedroom, Sherlock deems it safe enough to shift. Bones ripple and reshape, coal black fur retracts as his skin stretches to accommodate his human form. To anyone born human the shifting process sounds and looks excruciating, but in truth Were creatures only feel minor pain when they’re young and unable to speed up the process due to their limited energy stores. Sherlock remembers the first time Hamish shifted from wolf to human at the average age of six months; the pup didn’t let out a single yip. He had been so worried thinking that something was wrong with his son that he didn’t hear his mate laughing at him for a solid five minutes.

            He putters about the kitchen in the nude trying to decide on what’s easiest to consume at this point. It’s no secret that Sherlock Holmes is not overly fond of eating but he needs to keep his energy levels up if he intends to take care of his family in both forms. A quick peek in the cupboards reveals Hamish’s box of shredded wheat cereal which he pours the remaining contents into a recently cleaned bowl courtesy of Mrs. Hudson. He’s careful when reaching inside the refrigerator to grab the milk with the blue lid designated for consumption unlike the matching milk with the red lid which John sanctioned for experiments.

            The feeling of sitting down to have a meal no longer holds the same appeal as he looks around the empty flat. Of course the flat isn’t literally empty what with John and his four new pups just down the hall, but Sherlock hasn’t felt this lonely since the two years he spent demolishing Moriarty’s empire. He forces himself to pick up his spoon and eat, hardly tasting the bits of shredded wheat and slivers of almonds drowning in dairy product. As he chews his thoughts drift to Hamish at Mycroft’s house, wondering if the boy is eating his breakfast just as Sherlock is or if he’s packing his bag for school.

_I miss my son. I miss my mate. I miss my pups._

            Sherlock rises from the table slowly in hopes of dispelling such thoughts. A gentle flick of his wrist sends the empty bowl clattering into the sink while his inner wolf howls in abject misery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a bit short but I just couldn't ignore the potential for Sherlock-whump.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness has made him weak and so Sherlock is forced to call the one person he can't stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express enough how awesome it is to get feedback; I feel so loved. You guys sure do keep me motivated!

            Sherlock stood at the kitchen sink for a couple of minutes. His hands gripped the counter so tight his knuckles were turning white. He was not used to feeling so out of sorts and it bothered him to no end. There were only a handful of people in the world who could calm him right now but options in regards to his current situation were slim. One man however was always available should Sherlock need something.

            With an irritated sigh, he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room where he slipped on his trousers from the day before. He decided to forego any other article of clothing because he had a feeling he’d return to his wolf form soon enough. A quick fumble into his pockets revealed his mobile; an unnecessary scroll down the list of contacts later and he swallowed his pride.

            Three rings echoed down the line before a familiar posh voice answered. “Hello brother. What can I do for you?”

            “I need to speak with Hamish.” That wasn’t what Sherlock meant to say but his words were true nonetheless.

“I just dropped him off at school but you knew that already.”

            He wanted to curse his brother for being unable to grant his request but even he knew that was petty and childish. “Yes of course I knew that. I just wanted to…Oh God, I sound pathetic.”

            Moments passed while the other side of the line remained silent. He was fully prepared to be mocked by his older brother as per their way yet no insults were immediately forthcoming. He wanted to scream at the wrongness of it all but Mycroft’s near inaudible exhale of breath stopped him.

            “Sherlock, what’s wrong?” The query was soft without a hint of the usual exasperation tinged with sarcasm he’d grown up with.

            “I…am no longer…accustomed to this.” Sherlock hated the awkwardness that lingered on his tongue. This was his brother for goodness sake. Shouldn’t he be able to have a proper conversation without sounding needy and pathetic?

            Mycroft chuckled but it lacked scorn. “You’re lonely. Little brother, there is no shame in admitting to missing your son and your mate. That reminds me, how is John?”

            He never had any reason to doubt that Mycroft loved him despite the annoyance the other man presented on a daily basis. Still, it was nice to have confirmation of the fact even through an indirect conversation over the phone. “Doing well I suppose,” he answered. “He’s been a bit busy since the pups were born.”

            “Sherlock!” Ah, now there was the displeased tone that was reminiscent of old times. He nearly wept at the ease of which a scolding from his older brother brought. “When did this happen?”

            “Yesterday afternoon.” He smirked at imagining Mycroft’s sour face.

            A sigh and then, “I suppose it was too much to ask for you to promptly inform me of the birth of my nieces or nephews.”

            Sherlock laughed freely. The lonely feeling was leaving, having been replaced with the familiarity that only family can bring. “If it’s any consolation I have not met them yet, but I’ll be sure to pass on a greeting from their uncle Mycroft.”

            A delicate sniff indicated a truce. “See that you do.”

            Quiet descended upon them comfortably. Having banished the loneliness by riling up his brother, Sherlock ended the conversation with a quiet but sincere goodbye.

            He tossed his mobile in the direction of his chair before walking to the loo and responding to nature’s call. He scrubbed his hands fastidiously then pulled out his toothbrush to scrub away any lingering traces of shredded wheat. The bathtub to his right beckoned like a siren; he spit, rinsed, and dropped his trousers in anticipation of a good soak.

            Before he could even reach for the porcelain knobs, a sense of warmth seeped through his limbs. It was like molten honey flowing through his veins; sweet, calm, and familiar. He instantly recognized the feeling for what it was: the bond between Weres reestablishing itself after having been closed off by either party. In this case, John had shut down the link between them just as he shooed Sherlock out of the room yesterday morning.

            “John?” He called out in the loo and in his mind. _“Are you alright?”_

_“Come meet your pups.”_

_“Are you certain?”_ Sherlock’s uncertainty warred with his excitement.  

            He felt John’s exasperated fondness wash over him. _“Of course I am you silly git! Now get in here.”_

For once in his life, Sherlock Holmes did not have to be told twice. 

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooo~! The agony of a cliff-hanger burns us all >:) The italics are the character's thoughts just in case anyone didn't figure that out.

**Author's Note:**

> Rough timeline and ages are as follows:
> 
> Sherlock and John meet at Barts: S-30/J-31  
> Sherlock jumps from Barts: S-32/J-33  
> Sherlock returns from the dead: S-34/J-35  
> John gives birth to Hamish: S-34/J-35  
> John gives birth to second litter: S-39/J-40


End file.
